


what is grief if not love enduring?

by Spannah339



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, gonna do tags LATER i do not care, spoilers for march 1st stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29835681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spannah339/pseuds/Spannah339
Summary: They grieve.
Relationships: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	what is grief if not love enduring?

The corridor of the prison stretched into darkness but Sam didn’t stop moving. His grip was tight around the trident he held, his pace brisk and quick and sharp. He moved down one long, endless hall, and then another, and then another. 

How long he had paced through the cold, dark halls he wasn’t sure. Again and again, looking for clues he knew he wasn’t going to find. Sometimes he dove into the dark depths of the water surrounding the prison (the tomb). Sometimes he ventured into the painfully bright of outside, stood on top of the prison, covered every inch of it again and again and again. 

_“Sam - Sam please!”_

The ghost of a boy’s voice chased him endlessly. The desperate pleas of his final moments. The words Sam had ignored.

_“You’re going to have to trust me.”_

He had asked for trust. Asked for faith. Asked for so many things and he had failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. 

And Tommy had paid the price. 

_“You remember when you visited me in exile? This is worse than that.”_

Tommy had been desperate. Afraid. So, so very afraid. 

Sam knew why. And yet he had stilled ignored Tommy’s frantic attempts at help. He had ignored Tommy’s lowered guard, a guard he only lowered when he was desperate. 

_“He was mine! He obeyed me immediately. I didn’t even have to_ ask _him to destroy his armour by the end. It was almost too easy. Too_ fun _.”_

Dream’s laughter echoed through the corridors. 

No matter how much he tried to convince himself it had been necessary, Sam couldn’t rid himself of the guilt that ate him alive. 

The halls were cold. 

Sam kept walking, searching for a culprit even though he knew who was really to blame.

~*~

His cheeks were burning. A fire that still wasn’t as bad as the ache in his chest, a stinging that was worse than any physical pain he’d felt in a long time. 

It hurt, but he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, even when he pressed his sleeve to his face to try and dry them, to relieve the pain even a little. 

Ranboo trudged through the snow, a few flowers still hanging limp from one hand, the other pressed his sleeve to his face. 

He felt… numb, in many ways. The ache was strong, threatening to overwhelm, but so was the desire to just sleep. 

He should have done more. 

The cottage came into view and Ranboo looked up, blinking his eyes, and taking a shaky breath to keep back the rest of his tears. 

He’d forgotten how much it hurt. 

Fitting, really. 

He’d almost made it past the house when the opening of a door caught his attention. He dabbed at his cheeks again, trying to stop them stinging, to hide the fresh scars that were no doubt noticeable. 

“Hey mate!” Phil called, stepping out of his house and leaning on the edge of the bridge between buildings with a grin that Ranboo suddenly wanted to punch. He balled his fist, the flowers in his hand drooping. When he didn’t respond, Phil’s expression flickered. “Everything alright?” 

“No,” Ranboo said, his voice catching slightly. “No, not really.” 

How could he explain? 

“What’s up?” 

Phil’s concern seemed so genuine and Ranboo couldn’t help but feel so _angry_. Angry at everyone who only cared after it was too late. Angry at everyone who hadn’t done anything, himself included, who had let this happen. 

“Tommy’s dead,” he said, and the words felt heavy as he spoke them, like a finality. 

(The flower sat on the path, limp and forlorn and nobody came). 

“What?” Phil’s voice was almost amused, as though he were holding back a laugh. Ranboo balled his fists tighter, not caring that he was probably cutting into his palms. 

“He’s gone,” he said. “He was trapped in the prison and Dream…” He bit his lip. It was better than the burning cheeks. 

“Oh.” 

Phil’s expression barely changed. He was silent for a long moment, knuckles white on the railing the only sign of his emotion. “I see.” 

Then he turned abruptly and returned inside, shutting the door behind him. Ranboo swallowed thickly, determined not to cry anymore. 

He hurt enough already. 

“So Theseus finally fell.” 

He started, turning to see Techno standing behind him, arms crossed, axe in one hand, Steve’s lead in the other. Ranboo nodded, swallowing again and taking a shaky breath. 

“What happened to your face?” Techno’s voice didn’t change, still as steady and monotone as always. Ranboo blinked. 

“When… when I cry. My tears…” It felt silly to say. 

Techno didn’t answer, just gestured with one hand for Ranboo to follow him. He did, suddenly wanting to bury his face in the polar bear’s fur and cry without it hurting. 

It wasn’t fair. 

“I don’t even know why,” he said quietly, barely aware he was speaking. “I mean… he was always mean to me… I…” he trailed off, realizing Techno wouldn’t want to hear his rambling. 

Techno didn’t answer for a while, setting Steve up beside the fire before opening a chest. Ranboo stood near the door, fidgeting nervously, spinning the flowers in his hand. 

“Loss is funny like that,” Techno said finally. He glanced up from the chest, withdrawing a potion and holding it out to Ranboo. Ranboo took it, offering him a small smile. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Techno grunted, and Ranboo took that as his cue to leave. 

As he did, he heard Techno muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t sure exactly, but it sounded like “… I know… be patient. I won’t let him get away with this.” 

The door to Phil’s house was closed and his windows dark.

~*~

It felt almost wrong to sleep in a room that he had effectively stolen from a dead man. Jack couldn’t sleep, staring at the ceiling, trying to stop thinking. 

Somehow, he kept thinking of L’manberg. Specifically, a day a few weeks after he had joined the country, while he and Tommy were standing on top of the wall and they were laughing. 

He couldn’t even remember why - maybe it had something to do with something Tubbo had said or done. 

He just remembered laughing. Remembered the sun on his back and Tommy’s eyes sparkling with mirth and his loud, obnoxious cackle and laughing so hard his sides ached and he had tears running down his cheeks and he couldn’t breathe. 

He curled onto his side, shutting his eyes tightly. 

He remembered lying on the van with Tubbo and Niki and Tommy, pointing out stars and making up constellations. 

He remembered standing over a cold crater, annoyance mingling with simmering anger and Niki’s frustrated and furious expression. 

When had it all gone so wrong? 

Finally, he threw the blankets aside and stepped outside onto the balcony, looking out over the land. It all felt so… empty. Just yesterday he looked out here with pride and excitement - part of him was looking forward to the challenge of keeping this hotel from Tommy’s grasp when he returned. 

And now he was never going to return. 

A glint of light caught his attention and he glanced down to see a figure standing in the moonlight. 

Sam Nook. A silent sentry. 

Jack wondered how long he would stay there, waiting for a boy who would never return home. 

He gripped the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind and stared at the tree and the bench just across the way. 

He didn’t care anymore. 

He just wanted his friend back.

~*~

“I’m sorry.” 

Puffy sat on the edge of the crater, staring down at the glass that reflected the stars and the pit that lay underneath. 

“We all really let you down, huh?” 

L’manberg was so quiet now. It had been for a long time, but Puffy refused to let its memory fully die. 

Now, she felt like it had for good this time. 

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. You shouldn’t have had to go through that at all.” 

She held a bundle of flowers - white and red, like the ones Ranboo had been collecting. Somehow it felt fitting to sit here, over the land he had created. 

“I let you down. I failed you. Even before you went into the prison. I should have visited you more in exile. I’m sorry.” 

She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes, taking a shaky breath and shaking her head. 

The words felt empty. 

Nothing she could do could make up for what had happened to him. 

She just had to make sure it didn’t happen to anyone else. 

Taking a deep breath, she stood. Carefully, she held out her arm, opening her hand to let the flowers drift down to the glass that covered L’manberg. 

“I heard there was a special place,” she began softly. “Where men could go and emancipate.” 

The moon was cold as it shone on the lone woman, singing softly in the rubble of a home.

~*~

He paced the halls, the halls that felt more empty than ever. He’d barely unpacked from his travels, barely settled back in and now all he could think about was the pit in his chest and the ache in his bones and the lingering guilt he had carried for _months_. 

Eret ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath, stopping in front of his throne. 

Realistically, he knew he couldn’t have done anything. 

Part of him wondered if this would have happened if he’d come home just a little earlier. 

Part of him wondered how different things would be if he hadn’t let greed and naive foolishness blind him a long time ago. 

He began pacing again, aimlessly moving through the halls of his castle. He missed them. He had missed them all for such a long time and he had only just been starting to rebuild those relationships. 

Without meaning to, he found himself leaving his castle, walking the prime path, feet leading him aimlessly up the path. 

He stopped in front of the shrine Puffy had made earlier that day. 

Tommy had forgiven him. Tommy had been the first to forgive him, when Eret had long ago given up on any chance of that happening. 

Tommy had given him hope he could be forgiven. Given him hope he could redeem himself, could rebuild the relationships he had broken. 

With a long sigh, Eret reached up and took off his crown, glasses slipping down his face to reveal his white, white eyes. 

Clutching both to his chest, he lowered his head, closing his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said softly.

~*~

Snowchester was cold. 

Tubbo pulled a blanket over his shoulders and sat in the corner of the room, Micheal’s chicken sleeping on his lap. Micheal was asleep as well, curled in his boat across the room and Tubbo couldn’t help but be glad. 

It was cold, and no matter how many blankets he pulled around himself, no matter how hot he cranked up the fire he knew he couldn’t drive all the cold away. 

Part of him wondered if he’d be cold even in the depths of the Nether. 

Part of him didn’t care. 

It wasn’t true, surely. 

Sam was just playing another prank on them. A cruel one, one that was Tubbo’s biggest fear, but that had to be it. 

Right? 

But Sam’s voice had been shaky and his eyes wet and deep down Tubbo knew. 

This was worse than last time, somehow. Last time they hadn’t had a proper goodbye, last time Tubbo blamed himself, last time it hurt so, so much. 

But Tubbo had had L’manberg. He had had to keep pushing forward. He had things to distract him. 

Now he had nothing. Nothing but the cold shell of a house that had no heart, no soul. 

Because that was always Tommy’s job, wasn’t it? 

It was always Tommy who made a house a home. A nation a place to be proud of. 

They had won and somehow that made it all so, so much worse. 

They had won, and Dream had been locked up, and they had been able to go about their lives how they wanted to. They had won, and that should have been the end of the story. The book should have closed, the song should have finished. 

Happily ever after, right? 

Tubbo pressed himself into the corner, burying his face into the feathers of the chicken in his lap and fighting down tears. 

He couldn’t do this. 

Not again. 

Why did Death favour Tommy? 

~*~

Tommy woke with a chocked gasp, one hand flung above his head, shaking violently, a plea still on his tongue. 

He shuddered, breathing deeply, shutting his eyes and regaining his breath as he slowly realized he wasn’t in immediate danger. 

It was warm, but not the blistering heat of the Nether, or the wet, unpleasant heat of Dream’s cell. It was a pleasant warmth, like sun shining down on him. 

The ground was soft as well. Not hard and uneven like the floor of the cell, but soft and comfortable, what felt like grass tickling his arms. And wind blew softly over his face, a slow, lazy breeze that made Tommy relax more. 

Then he opened his eyes and stared up at the blue sky above him. A few stray clouds drifted across the sky and despite the still aching of his arms and head, Tommy smiled softly. 

He was _out_. He wasn’t trapped any more. He could feel the wind, could see the sun, could hear the trees rustling nearby. He was _out_ and he was finally _free_. 

(What had happened? It had been dark and hot and terrifying and Dream had been there and he had been violent and harsh and…) 

He didn’t want to think about that. With arms that were still shaking slightly, he pushed himself up and looked around. 

A few trees dotted the area, a river flowing lazily past. Hills rose around them and standing a few meters away, his back to Tommy, was a figure. 

He was tall, wearing a coat that flapped slightly in the wind. A beanie was pulled firmly over his hair, and his shoulders were more relaxed that Tommy ever remembered them being. 

“Wilbur?” he called, unease and excitement mingling, together. His voice shook slightly, the panic not fully faded. 

The figured turned, revealing a familiar soft smile. It was strange, seeing Wilbur like this. Wearing the clothes he died in (he was dead how was he here?), a bloodstain across his chest, but smiling. Eyes soft, proud, sorrowful. 

He looked at Tommy the same way he had when Tommy claimed independence. 

“Welcome home,” he said softly. 

Tommy blinked up at him, suddenly aware of the hand Wilbur stretched out to him. He took it, letting Wilbur pull him to his feet and swaying slightly. 

Everything felt off. He was aching, pain pounding through him, but it didn’t feel real. It felt as though someone else was hurting, but when he looked down at his arms he could see the bruises, could feel dry blood in his head.

“What happened to you,” Wilbur said softly, cupping his chin and lifting his face. Tommy felt a lump in his throat at the softness of the touch, despite the involuntary flinch the action drew from him.

What had happened. He didn’t remember exactly, everything felt like a dream. One that he didn’t want to wake up from. This open field and Wilbur soft expression were far better than the nightmare of the last week. 

“I-” he began, looking down. Wilbur’s hand drifted down to his arm, gently holding his elbow. Tommy followed the movement, seeing the bruises that littered his arms. 

( _Dream standing over him, eyes blazing. Fists clenched, bloodied with Tommy’s blood. He was holding his arms above his face, tears in his eyes, blood running down his cheek._ )

He shuddered, despite the warmth of the afternoon. Wilbur lifted his hand hesitantly, pausing a moment before returning it. 

“Take your time,” he said quietly. “It takes time to adjust." 

"Adjust to what?” Tommy asked, and he hated how small his voice was. “Wilbur where - where am I?" 

Wilbur glanced up, and Tommy did as well. His heart skipped a beat, his breath caught suddenly in his throat. 

He knew where they were. This was home. This was L'manberg’s land, the foundations she was built upon before war and death had stained her soil. 

If L'manberg was here, unbroken, unspoiled. And if Wilbur was here, alive… 

Was Tommy? 

"Wil- am…” He trailed off, breath catching. “Am I?" 

_(Dream was angry, more angry than Tommy had ever seen him. And the lava seemed to be laughing at him and the walls were closing in around him and -)_

He was breathing quickly, shaking his head, heart bounding. 

"No,” he said softly. 

“Tommy-” Wilbur began but Tommy stepped back, pushing Wilbur’s hand away. 

“No. No. I - I can't… what about my hotel? What about Tubbo. I can’t leave I can’t be… I was going to leave him behind, I was going to be done with him this was going to be the last time." 

He couldn’t breathe. He shuddered, wrapping his arms around his chest and collapsing to his knees. The ground was hard underneath him and his breath was short, sharp, panicked.

"I’m not dead,” he whispered. “I - I won. I can’t let him… I left him behind. I - I’m finished with him he can't… he can’t win." 

"Tommy.” Wilbur’s voice was soft, even, full of hurt. A hand lay gently on Tommy’s back and he stiffened, remembering the past week of Dream’s casual punches. But Wilbur’s hand was steady, comforting and Tommy leaned into it despite himself. “I’m sorry." 

Wilbur’s voice was so genuine, so full of regret that Tommy felt tears prick his eyes again. 

He was so tired. 

"Wilby, I-" 

He was tired. Tired of being afraid, tired of nightmares. Tired of not being normal, of freaking out over the smallest things. He was tired of Dream’s shadow that never seemed to leave. Tired of losing again and again and again. 

"I know,” Wilbur said softly and drew Tommy into a tight hug. Tommy didn’t resist, curling into Wilbur’s embrace, sobbing softly. 

“There - I had a hotel,” he whispered. He wanted to do so much. He wanted to prove he could. He wanted to become someone, to prove that Dream didn’t control him. Didn’t own him. 

He wanted to do so much. 

He buried his face in Wilbur’s chest, shoulders shaking, weeping for his lost childhood. 

At least here, maybe he could rest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Really gotta say Ranboo dramatically crying over Sam getting Paralizationated or whatever the HECK does not fit the vibe of editing this! Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
